Reflect
by Mazzie May
Summary: Six years after saluting Rebecca Chambers, Billy Coen sits back and thinks about how the worst moment in his history of existence has lead to the life he has now.


**Author's Note: I wrote aboot Billeh**

**Summary: Six years after saluting Rebecca Chambers, Billy Coen sits back and thinks about how the worst moment in his history of existence has lead to the pretty great life he has now.**

**Rating: T for violence?**

**

* * *

**

Reflect

_By: Mazzie may_

I think it's funny. How things have turned out. I'm just sitting in a field, enjoying the sun set in northern Malta. It's pretty crazy how I got here.

I remember being in prison for just under a year. The crime that "I" committed was horrible, yes. But… it wasn't my first offense. So, they could knock me up to the top of executioners list if they wanted to. They did.

I was framed this time, I know, as did everyone involved. But I didn't argue. _Couldn't _argue. I mean, what chance did I have? An entire platoon's statement, against mine. I'm a man with a hefty record. On top of that, I was knocked out for the whole ordeal. Even if somehow I was able to prove I didn't do the deed myself, there'd be no way to point the evidence at them. It was a lost cause. Who was gonna believe a guy with that kind of story?

So, I pled guilty.

Sometimes, when I'd be in my prison cot, violent memories would reel in my mind and I'd be taken back to the day when temporary insanity spread like the plague, moisture was so thick in the air you felt as though you were drowning. Men, women, children, the elderly… their deaths were similar to that of the people in Death Camps, I think, as they were lined up and gunned down.

The south-of-the-Equator sun, the sweltering heat it caused. That heat, in turn, roasting the corpses. The rotting smell forced me to gag and stagger, lowering my weapon, giving our captain the perfect opportunity to knock me out. That smell was something else. I couldn't get it out of my nose. I think it's what woke me up so often.

When Umbrella reps came to me, I knew instantly that it would require me to do some bad things. Real bad things. But it was either the chair or some shady errand boy. Of course I signed with Umbrella. Anyone would have. And besides, hey, it wouldn't be the first time I did something I wasn't proud of...

The officials transferred me from the holding center in Florida up to Chicago, where I would await the carrying out my sentence. Three days before my last meal, two MPs came to escort me to Arkley Maximum Security Center. It was the closest prison for miles that was "equipped" with "disciplinary options". I was wondering where Umbrella was, since they promised me a Get Out of Jail free card. I was a little worried they dropped the ball. Not ten minutes into the ride, the MPs pulled the jeep to the side of the road and then helped me out.

They handed me a change of clothes—a plum coloured tank top, blue jeans and cowboy boots—and removed the cuffs from my ankles and wrists. When I changed, I felt like a gay urban cowboy. They put the wrist cuffs back on, only in the front. During all of this, the two men explained that they were Eric and Jeremy, Umbrella guards, who were to transport me to the training facility. With nice enough smiles they told me they'd been chosen since I was going to be in their group.

As we all climbed back into the jeep, I began thinking about why so many guys from prison left with Umbrella. It seemed like a pretty sweet deal, as Eric and Jeremy continued talking; free lodging, food, you'd receive a set salary, but would receive a plus for every mission completed. It wasn't a permanent bonus, just for that paycheck, but it sounded great. You could be stationed all over the world and if your record's nice enough, they said, you can make transfer requests. Entering the forest, Jeremy was explaining to me how, Raymond—the shift manager—was an asshole, but he got things done, so if I ever needed anything, it was best to go to him.

Eventually, I felt the whole thing wasn't a joke, that the guys were legit and began asking my own questions. Like, why they signed with Umbrella. Neither of them seemed to mind. I told my story, too. They said that they were sorry it had to happen to such a nice guy. I had to fight the smile tugging at my lips. Right about then, I was thinking signing with Umbrella was the best decision I ever made.

Course, not two seconds after the thought was made, the jeep gets slammed hard on its right side. We were sent spinning into the mother of all donuts. If I hadn't been so freaked out, I might've thought it was cool. Eric was yelling out curses, doing his best to get the jeep back under control. Jeremy had a very angry looking handgun out, waiting for the vehicle to stop so he could get a look around.

All I could do was grip the seat in front of me because of the cuffs.

Before we came to a whole stop, Eric came down heavy on the gas and sent me back against the seat. Jeremy swiveled around, putting on knee on his seat, aiming over me, behind us. The man has balls of steel. I knew how to fire off clean shots in a moving vehicle, but that was on a street; Eric was plowing through brush and over logs, the natural speed bumps sending us off our seats. Yet, Jeremy stayed right on, firing at whatever was behind us.

I really wanted to turn around, but I would've been putting myself in his line of fire. Eric yelled out my name, and I leaned forward. He reached behind his seat, trying to find my hand. I grabbed his wrist, and he dropped a set of keys into my hands.

"For ta cuffs!" he yelled, putting both hands back on the wheel. "We had ta leave 'em on ya for show! S'why we brought tat paperwork, too!" He turned the wheel and I was sent sliding along the back seat to the left.

I almost dropped the keys. Almost. I dropped low onto the car floor, and began fumbling, trying to get the key in. I felt like an idiot. I was acting like a civvie. I was _not _a civvie. I took a deep breath, and closed my eyes.

When I opened them, I was completely calm. As calm as any good soldier, I inserted the key, unlatched the right cuff. I didn't get to the left, Eric passed me his gun.

We hit another tree root, I was tossed up a bit, but I used it as a method of getting up. Staying out of Jeremy's range, I gripped the back of the seat hard as I squinted into the dark brush, snapping and swaying violently back into the place as we passed.

I didn't see anything, but then Jeremy wasn't aiming right behind us. I looked down and stopped. I did not know what I was looking at. "What…" I hissed, trying to keep balanced, but still lost in the image below me. "… is _that_!"

"You mean, what are _they_!" Jeremy yelled. I turned my head towards him a little, still not looking away. "It's a whole bunch'a little slug things!"

He pulled the trigger once, twice. Two loud _plobs_ came out of the mass of what I would later know to be leeches (at the time, we just called them slugs), and some dark fluid exploded from them. The hissed in pain and it sounded like a high pitched whistle. It faded pretty quick, though, we were going so fast.

But not fast enough. If there's one thing I learned from that whole damned experience is that you can never be fast enough.

Since it was dark—it was going to rain—we didn't see it coming until it was literally right under us. The slugs moved in one fluid motion, a wave rippling through the mass. It slammed into the rear tires, and suddenly, we were air born.

I was violently chucked to the left. In the past, there'd been times when the helicopter couldn't get close to the ground; too high for ladders, but too low for 'shutes, so we'd have to jump, tuck and roll. Which is exactly what I did. The landing was a little awkward; I'm used to a fully-automatic slung over my shoulder, so I didn't tuck in my right arm all the way, which was done to avoid the AKA. But I didn't have an AKA, I had Hi Power Browning. In my _hand._

I landed too hard on my left side and I bounced, jarring my right arm. Nothing serious, nothing that would hinder me. I rolled a twice before swinging my legs out, to swivel me around, stopping me. I popped up from the push-up position, but still stayed half bent over, finger on trigger, looking around me.

The first thing I saw was the jeep. It was completely turned over. Eric had been wearing a seat belt the whole time; he didn't get thrown from the jeep. The slugs had swarmed it, and I could hear him screaming and fighting. I wanted to help him, but Rule Number Four for every soldier, 'If you can't get out, don't back.' It was a sucky rule, but it's one that kept us alive. Basically, it means if going back for a fellow solider severely hinders your chances of evacuating or completing a mission, then you are not to help them. I turned away from Eric's flailing arm and scanned the area for Jeremy. Eric was a soldier, too. To this day, I keep telling myself he'd understand.

It was hard to see in the dark. It was a full moon, but the trees were thick. The only real light was from the jeeps headlights and taillights. I spotted Jeremy. He was already up, quickly making his way around the overturned vehicle. He wasn't going for Eric, either.

He called out to me, and I answered. Just as I was standing straight, getting ready to meet him half way, more than half of the mass that was on Eric rose into a pillar like thing and toppled onto the Jeremy. I then realized Eric wasn't screaming anymore.

I didn't see them take Jeremy down, though later, Rebecca Chambers would tell me that he was found dead, too, not two feet from where I last saw him. Light broke through the trees and thunder clapped. I turned and ran.

It started raining. Pretty hard. It's going to sound horrible, but at that very moment, I felt great. Running through dark, wet woods, with only a handgun, no ammo and no idea of where you're at, your comrades taken right before your eyes, the enemy whereabouts unknown… it's what you dream of when you first sign up. I was completely at peace.

Except, I wasn't fighting gorillas, or AWOL platoons. I was being chased by slugs. Or leeches, whatever. And it sounds so stupid, but I was not going to stop, I was going to keep running. We hadn't driven that far off the main road, so I figured I'd follow it to the training facility I was supposed to reach. Report what happened, send a team in to investigate or something. If I found myself outside of Raccoon City, I'd have to go back. By now, the state must have figured out they'd been duped, so I'd be a full blown wanted murderer. Everyone would be searching for me. Not to mention, there was a park right near the woods. I couldn't let those things follow me to where people might be. I had to find the main road.

I didn't find the main road, though. I found a train. A _train_. I'll let that sink in for a minute. I did a quick overview of it, jogged around it. Except for most of the first level windows being broken, it seemed sturdy.

I boarded it. I hadn't been expecting a train, but what I really hadn't expected was a train full of bodies. Ripped, torn, bloody. I checked two people for pulses before concluding they were all dead. I am very glad to this day that I had seen masses of dead people before, and I was able to just look at them.

Some guy in a brown suit was my cadaver. I looked him over pretty closely, and I couldn't help but wonder why he had burn marks on him. Small, perfectly circled chemical burns all over him. He also had pieces of glass sticking into one side, the window next to him broken. I leaned away, took one more look around the room and headed to the south door.

The glass had been broken from the outside. What could break glass with that kind of force and leave marks like that?

Yeah, sometimes I'm kind of slow.

Already long story short, I met the STARS rookie, crashed the train into the training facility, went river rafting in the sewers, solidified my thoughts that scientists are freaking nuts, and nuked the facility off the face of the earth, fighting leech people, zombies, rabid monkeys and ridiculously large moths along the way.

It was a long two days.

After Chambers and I separated, I put some more of Marine training to good use, and smuggled myself out of the country. We know how to stop convicts from getting out, so I knew exactly what to watch out for. And it as just to Canada. From there, I headed to the Mediterranean, and have been hiding out in this little country of Malta ever since.

The Republic of Malta lies directly south of Sicily, east of Tunisia and north of Libya. It takes about eight hours to walk from one end of it to the other. No one is going to find me here. Ever. I love this place. And when the sun's gone down, it's not dark. It's never dark here. The sky's always a dark twilight blue at night. And the stars are really white.

I think that's half the reason I stay here. I don't want to be in the dark anymore. I heard about Umbrella going under, which I am all for. Sometimes, if I'm out in the hills when the sun's coming up, I'll think of Rebecca. She was a sweet kid, but way too fragile for what happened. But then, I think everyone is.

If I ever work up the nerve to go back to the states, or if my name's ever cleared (neither of which seems likely), I'd like to see her again. Ask her how things turned out for her, if she was involved in the final blow against Umbrella. Ask her if she always got the constant reassurance that she needed. She always looked like she doubted herself, and I had the strongest urge to pat her on the head. I refrained, though. She might've shot me.

Sometimes, I wonder if I should've stuck around. Help fight the good fight, you know? But I'm glad I got out when I did. From what I've been told, the others suffer a hell of a lot more than I ever do. Even though all of us involved were scarred for life by what happened and we'll be forever haunted, on the grand scale of things, I've made out like a bandit; good home, good job with good money, a good wife, a very well behaved three year old son…

Yeah, even though I occasionally feel guilty, I'm very pleased with what skipping town has gotten me. Taking off has giving me the opportunity to do this. Just sit back and…

Reflect.

**

* * *

Author's Note: A Billy fic! A none Billy/Rebecca fic. I'm going to get shot. That said, I'm pleased. I had several people poke me about wirtting Billy, so… here we are! I always thought that it was kind of lame how a convict on death row was running around in 'casuals', with only one set of hand cuffs. Oh, and the report Rebecca picked up said "Lt. Billy Coen". Are you kidding? It should have read "Lieutenant Coen, Billy", at the very least. I smell a set up.**

**R&R Please **


End file.
